


Daemons

by EsculentEvil



Series: EsculentEvil's BatJokes Shots [20]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, Hate Sex, Headcanon, M/M, Prompt Fill, Sex Demon!Joker, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Unhealthy Relationships, Vampire!Batman, abstract smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 12:41:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16974759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EsculentEvil/pseuds/EsculentEvil
Summary: A fic based off of myDaemon AU prompt.Just so we’re clear: this isabstract NSFW PWP."Batman is a vampire and Joker is a (sex) demon. ... They fight like animals and usually Batman wins; but if he’s too low on blood, he looses and Joker becomes his onlymorally acceptable meal.”Or: Batman feeds on Joker while feeding him too.Originally posted to my Tumblr @esculentevil





	Daemons

**Author's Note:**

> Just to clarify: Daemon is a term that refers to any being that is not human or not of the physical/human plane; it is not a misspelling of demon and does not refer to demons alone; it can refer to anything from demons to vampires to ghosts to angels to gnomes to werewolves.

The first time it happens, Joker can’t believe it.

He almost laughs himself sick. 

Instead, he just stares down at the fallen bat with a twitching lip.

Then, he grins.

* * *

 

The smell is ill and off-putting.

It is not metallic or sweet.

It is bitter and brackish.

Still, Batman sinks in his teeth.

* * *

 

Joker moans softly as the needle-like canines pinch and breach his skin.

He holds the back of the Bat’s head with his stark white hands (White like death; typical demon skin.), fingertips digging into scalp and black hair. His whole body trembles as his defiled blood is siphoned violently from him, weakening him...

Arousing him...

He purrs in the back of his throat, knowing the vibrations will affect his devourer, and tugs helplessly at the midnight locks clenched in his bleached fists. His luminescent green eyes close as he feels himself harden further, entire torso hot and pulsing as it’s being meshed against another—bigger, broader, burlier—one.

The thick forearms locked at his back are the cause of this.

So is his overwhelming desire to let the larger being have all of him.

* * *

 

He’s salty and biting and fowl smelling; but he’s  **satisfying**.

The heaviness in his belly—in his bones and in his brain—is unlike anything he has ever dared to call food. His head becomes airy with the demon’s brew and his skeleton seems to become renewed. His body buzzes and his loins flare as his skin blackens with health and his muscles leech power from the fair.

He’s hard as a rock and so is his monstrous lunch.

He growls in acknowledgement as the meal moans low and wantonly in his long, pointed ear: a feast for a feast, as they say.

* * *

 

Demons don’t normally wear much.

They’re seducers; it wouldn’t really make sense if they did.

But sod all if the Joker ever made sense about anything.

He laughs as the rejuvenated Bat tears off his layers of crafted purple hues.

* * *

 

He’s wonderfully pliant.

There’s no mocking tone silking harsh words. There’s no spindly arms attempting to choke him. There’s no sharp claws or kicking feet.

There’s just soft whiteness and glowing jade.

His fangs find his mark again—like they always will in the future—and sink back into black-stained marble. They vibrate as a guttural moan erupts from the Joker’s throat. The same headiness hits him again, as does the heat, while more fowl fuel is pulled into him by his teeth and bone-white thighs wrap about him.

( _Demons don’t need preparation._ )

They get wet and open up naturally—much like a beast in heat. Unsurprisingly, this is where Joker conforms as he is unable to defy his own anatomy: the entrance is smooth and sweet, natural lube leaking like drool as Batman goes in.

They gasp.

Joker’s voice breaks into a groan before it morphs into a high pitched giggle. The Bat growls and shoves his fingers in the other’s mouth, pressing down on his wicked tongue to silence him; he’d kiss the clown, since it would silence him better, if this whole thing weren’t about  **feeding**.

He’s not pulling his fangs out again.

Not until they’re both full, at least.

* * *

 

The long, thick digits almost choke him.

He has to move his tongue to keep them from slipping to the back of his throat. He chuckles as he thinks them falling in won’t be so bad.

Then his eyes roll back.

It’s seeping in.

* * *

 

Joker’s eyes aren’t the only thing about him that glow.

Embedded in his stomach, deep in the dip of his naval, is a deep green stone. According to lore, this is a demon’s core. You can judge the health and strength of a demon based on the brilliance of it—both in the sense of its luster as well as the light it gives off. If it shines as bright as the eyes, you’re in trouble.

And damn the Bat, the Joker’s getting there.

Not that he really cares: even at full brilliance, the Joker is still weaker than the Batman. All it would take is a well-placed kick to destabilize the demon’s core and their game is won ( _Not that I agree that it’s a game; it’s just that he won’t shut up about it._ ). There’s no real point in worrying about the energy he’s feeding the vile villain or the fact that it’s his soul slowly and steadily fueling him.

None of that matters.

The jade is just prettier at full power.

* * *

 

He’s leaking all over the place.

Everything from his thighs to his lower back is soaked from his own desire and there’s drool pooling in his hair. Tears are in his eyes due to the strain and he’s pouring sweat as his inner temperature rises in time with his core’s feast.

He’s filthy.

He’s  **filling**.

* * *

 

The orgasm shouldn’t have been a surprise.

The sharp pain in his side as his meal’s core flares to life and licks his black flesh should have been expected—anticipated—as he’s read about these things.  _The demon’s jewel will blaze like a star once its feast is complete because, at the moment, it has reach full capacity_ : there’s no where left for his soul to go.

If that means the Joker beneath him is about to burst wide open, Batman doesn’t care—why should he if he’s still being allowed to siphon liquid life from him?

At full power, Joker can’t defeat Batman but he  **can**  dish out some damage; if he’s not fighting him then there’s no reason Batman can’t keep going.

* * *

 

He’s so full.

He’s pretty sure he’s delirious with it (Batman’s  **soul** ~!).

His skin is tight and hot and stretched beyond fathoms.

He’s pretty sure he’s swelling where he shouldn’t be.

* * *

 

His own orgasm shouldn’t have been surprising.

He almost tore out a chunk of Joker’s neck, the release was that intense.

He’s never felt anything like it.

He vows  _never again_  even as he laps at his new possession.

* * *

 

They don’t speak as they dress on shaky limbs and stumbling legs.

Joker throws his purple clothing over his shoulder instead of ruining them with his sweat and slick. He chooses, instead, to cover his bone-white skin with pitch black: Batman’s cape which the dark knight doesn’t seem to be missing.

They don’t fight as they step outside and head towards the Batmobile.

They don’t even kiss each other goodbye.


End file.
